Watching Time
by Jojo6
Summary: Siler always keeps some quarters on him. Just in case. S/J. Season 8 spoilers.


Title: Watching Time  
Author: Jojo  
Email: randomleaves@yahoo.com  
Rating: PG  
Category: Sam/Jack, fluff, humor  
Summary: Siler always keeps a few quarters on him. Just in case.   
Spoilers: Season 8 ideas and one spoiler, A Matter of Time  
Disclaimer: Not mine! Sadly.  
A/N: Thanks to Anna, A.j., Emry and Melly.   
Status: Complete  


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*

*

**Monday, 0713 Hours**

There were many advantages of being one of the most experienced Stargate scientists on base. She got a lot of the really juicy and interesting cases, for one, even though she was now the CO of an active off-world team. She also got constant clearance to access all wormhole activity schedules. Sam hadn't quite realized just how big of a perk this was until very recently, and now she was taking full advantage of it.

Hopping on a control room computer every Monday morning, with a polystyrene cup of Daniel's finest coffee by her side, she could easily locate the Alpha site code, the date and time of its authorized off-world activation, and make a mental note.

Unfortunately, the schedule didn't usually give any more details than that – no names of who would arrive and the reasons for their visit – which was something of a pain in the mik'ta because occasionally traffic from the Alpha site to Earth could be quite heavy. 

One particular week, for example, there had been *twenty-three* authorized visits and finding a reason to be in the gate room twenty-three times in a week when she wasn't off-world was pretty hard going. Particularly since all SGC technology was going through an alarming phase of working absolutely *perfectly* (Siler warned of doom and destruction in all their futures). Sam had recently resorted to 'accidentally' leaving files or paperwork in the control room and 'dropping by', conveniently timing her visits with Alpha site traffic.

"Good morning, Major," Siler greeted her cheerfully, walking past and switching on another computer. 

Her shoulders tensed and she glanced at him as he stood there, hands in his pockets, jingling something metallic that sounded like coins. "Morning," she said with false cheer, hoping Siler wouldn't notice a pattern to her control room antics.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

"Er.... MALP 4's schedule for this week," she said, pulling her excuse from her long repertoire of 'things with which to distract Siler'.

As usual, Siler fell for it. "Really? I hadn't noticed anything. Are you sure?" he asked in concern.

She nodded seriously. "It's probably nothing, Sergeant."

"I think I'll have a look anyway."

Smiling serenely, Sam turned to him. "That would be great. Thanks." She probably ought to feel guilty about distracting him like that but she was truly very desperate. 

Siler nodded, his glasses sliding a little way down his nose before he pushed them back up. He looked like he was about to go for a moment, then he stopped. "Did you notice? General O'Neill's due back this afternoon."

Sam nearly got whiplash as she turned to look at the screen. Scrolling down, she did indeed see the Alpha site code. Jack's arrival was scheduled for 1200 hours. "How do you know it's General O'Neill?" she asked, not wanting to get her hopes up unnecessarily. 

"I overheard the transmission between the Generals." Siler began to look shifty, as if he realized listening in to superiors conversations wasn't exactly professional. "Ah... I'll go check on MALP 4."

Listening only vaguely, Sam nodded. "Good idea. Thanks, Sergeant." Sam closed the program and picked up her coffee. 1200 hours. Great. Just in time for lunch.

She wondered what he was back for – meetings here, at the Pentagon, Area 51? She knew the Alpha site was expanding once again, and that there was a lot of work involved in that, both here and off-world, but she also knew that he didn't just come back for meetings. He also had to deal with the more mundane, every day tasks such as paying his bills, insurance and letting out his cabin. He didn't have a cover story – unlike Sam's father, who was supposedly working abroad – and so had to make an appearance now and again.

Last week, however, she'd been disappointed when the SGC had been quarantined for three days as a precaution against a potential virus and his meeting with General Hammond had been cancelled. That meant it was now nearly two weeks since she'd last seen him and she was getting antsy.

At the very least, she decided, maybe they could grab a bite to eat in the mess. Hell, she'd drive him to the airport if it was necessary. Anything to spend some time together. Long distance relationships were hell – she'd known that when they'd started dating – but they were talking thousands of light-years here.

Now, she thought as she wandered down the corridor from the control room with her coffee, all she had to do was figure out how to be in the gate room at 1200 hours and, more importantly, *why*.

*

**0729 hours**

The pounding feet of a squad exercising past the officers' quarters woke Jack an entire minute before his alarm was due to go off. Muttering darkly about the unreasonable interruption of his sleep, he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom mirror.

"ARGH!" his reflection yelled in horror. It was far too early in the morning to get that kind of a shock, Jack decided. But, wow, his hair had certainly never done *that* before.

Gingerly, he pressed down on the offending cowlick only to see it spring up violently once he'd removed his hand. Damn. He knew he should have saved his shower for the morning instead of last night. 

He tried again, wondering what the hell had made his hair do... well, *that*.... but he got the same reaction. Instant spring-age. Crap.

Mentally, Jack added 'hair cut' to the list of things he had to do on Earth in the next couple of days. In addition to 'seduce Carter'. Or 'be seduced by Carter'. He wasn't fussy.

Anyway, for the time being, his hair would have to be tamed by the usual method he had devised when it went beyond 'casually disheveled' and entered 'insanely stupid' territory. He filled up the basin with cold water, grimaced, and then dunked his head in it. Fumbling blindly for a towel, he quickly transferred his now sopping head to it, making a face when the water ran into his ears.

Scrubbing mercilessly, he experienced a scary flashback to his childhood where his mother had completed the same task every morning before school ('Cleanliness is next to godliness, John O'Neill, and if I catch you trying to look under Lucy Williams' skirt once more, there'll be hell to pay.')

His mother had not understood the exotic lure of eight-year-old Lucy Williams, his senior by a very important three and a half months. Or the game they had played on the way to school each morning:

"Guess what color they are, Jack, guess!"

"Er... pink?"

"No."

"Blue?"

"No."

"Green?"

"No. Wanna see?"

"Oooh, yes!"

Man. He wondered what had happened to Lucy Williams. The O'Neills had moved out of town (actually, state) when Jack was ten and Lucy had been 'going steady' with Jed Maguire, after dramatically dumping his twin brother, Sam, on the playground one sunny afternoon. 

She was probably thrice divorced and the mother of half a dozen step-children, Jack thought cynically.

Flinging the towel over the rack, Jack peered through the window to see what the weather was like. Clear skies, bright sun. Again. Oh, how he longed for a little variation – he hoped it was raining back on Earth. This consistent summery weather was getting to him.

Dressing swiftly, Jack grabbed his baseball cap in case his hair decided to revolt once more and left the officers' quarters with a decided spring in his step.

He wondered what color Carter's underwear was today.

*

**1101 hours**

As it turned out, her newest excuse wasn't necessary. At 1101 hours, Sam's quality time with the latest naquadah reactor version (half the size, double the output, comes in three handy camouflage shades) was interrupted by a call from Captain Simmons. It seemed MALP 4 had broken down halfway up the ramp prior to the initial survey of M9P 587 that Simmons was overseeing.

"I'll be there ASAP, Captain," she replied, wondering what the chances were of a MALP breaking down just because she'd lied about it and whether it would take an hour to fix.

Fingers crossed, she thought hopefully. 

There were technicians littering the gate room when Sam arrived and she wondered why Simmons had felt it necessary to call her. Any of them could have fixed a MALP blindfolded and drunk. 

Then she saw Siler, standing defensively at the foot of the ramp, having an intense 'discussion' with Sergeant Lewis.

Checking the control room, she noted the lack of any military authority over her own rank, and decided she would take charge. "Guys, can we get the MALP down from there first? It's obstructing the ramp," she called as she walked forward through the small crowd.

Sergeant Lewis threw his hands to the side. "I've been trying, Major, but Siler doesn't think the MALP should be moved!"

Wincing slightly, Sam eased over to Siler's side, eyeing him warily. His eyes were looking a little wide, she thought. Slightly... panicked, though this expression eased when he saw her. "Siler? We need to get her off the ramp," she said gently, lowering her voice. She squeezed his elbow lightly, sympathetically, and tried to remember the last time Siler had taken some downtime.

If people thought she worked too hard, they clearly hadn't seen Siler in action. Combined with that, the guy was horrendously accident prone. If things weren't exploding around him, then people were running into him. He probably spent more time in the infirmary than Daniel did.

Siler wiped a hand over his slightly glistening brow and sighed. "Yes, Major," he said. "It was just... er..." He stalled and looked at her askance before, strangely, lifting his watch and checking the time and then confirming that time with the clock on the gate room wall. "Damn. It's nothing, Major. Really."

Something really odd was up with him, Sam decided. She wondered if she ought to send him up to the infirmary. He was looking a little feverish.

After escorting Siler down the ramp, a dozen technicians hurried to encircle the MALP before slowly pushing it back down, while Sam and Siler watched.

Turning back to the problem at hand, she was just in time to hear Lewis' gleeful order for the MALP to be dismantled in the gate room and for an Airman to fetch his toolbox.

She went to get herself a cup of coffee. Overseeing the operation on the MALP would be just the ticket for being in the gate room when Jack arrived.

*

**1139 hours**

Someone up there was playing with him, Jack decided, crawling under his desk and searching through his overflow 'filing system', which essentially consisted of a couple of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with mostly redundant files. Files that he kept around because he had a fear of throwing things away that might – some day, some how – become potentially vital.

Like today.

"I'm sorry, sir," his head of computer geeks repeated for the fifth time since walking into Jack's office just as Jack was preparing to leave.

"It's fine, Verne," Jack replied, though his tone of voice said quite the opposite. 

In fact, had he translated his tone of voice, it would have said something along the lines of, 'No, Verne, your apology is not accepted because this is the fourth time your *impenetrable, absolutely perfect* computer system has once again crashed and died or whatever it was that it did every few days'.

Finally, *finally*, Jack located the file he'd just ruined his knees for. Pulling it out of the box, hitting his head on the desk in the process, he clambered back out and dropped into the chair. "This what you wanted, Airman?" he asked, holding the file out across his desk.

The Airman, who had been standing to attention at the back of the room, took the file and nodded. "Sir," he said.

Jack waved a hand impatiently. "Dismissed. Major, how long is it going to take?"

"Six hours, maximum, sir," Verne assured him confidently.

Jack raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "Is this like the time you said six hours maximum and it ended up being two weeks and we couldn't get into any of the secure rooms?"

Verne's face darkened with embarrassment and he shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Oh, no, sir. That was an exceptional circumstance!"

"And this isn't?"

"No, sir."

"Do I have to stick around to oversee," he waved his hand around in an all-encompassing manner, "the... repairs?"

Verne shook his head quickly. "No, sir. It's a simple fix."

Which was going to take six hours? Interesting concept. 

"Great." He checked his watch and grimaced at the time. To think, only an hour ago he'd been running early. "I'm outta here. If anything goes horribly, horribly wrong... contact the SGC."

"Yes, General."

Scooping up the three files full of plans that Hammond had wanted to see, Jack picked up his overnight bag that contained the few items he carried to and from the Alpha site, he got the hell out of his office before someone else could spring a new problem on him that would delay him further. 

Colonel Mason, second in command of the Alpha site, was already waiting by the DHD. He looked at his watch pointedly when Jack rushed up.

"Don't you start," Jack muttered. "You know the computers are down again?" He started dialing quickly.

Mason raised his dark eyebrows. "Again? What's that – the third time?"

"Fourth."

He snorted. "Great. What's the estimate?"

"Six hours," Jack said wryly.

Colonel Mason adjusted his cap slightly and looked up at the sky thoughtfully. "Twenty bucks says it's not up by the time you return."

Jack considered. Briefly. "You're on." He hit the red sphere and fondly watched the Stargate kawoosh before Mason put in the code.

Jack regarded his 2IC for a moment. "See you in two days, Colonel. Don't let the place burn down."

"I'll try my hardest, sir," Mason replied, grinning good-naturedly as Jack walked up the ramp, "but I can't make any promises."

Jack chuckled and pushed his way through to Earth.

*

**1149 hours**

Foot tapping, Sam checked her watch again. Then she checked the gate room clock. Then, just as a precaution, she checked Siler's.

Damn. Was time moving slowly again? She'd never *known* an hour to pass so slowly. Okay, technically, she *had* known an hour to pass so slowly but she hadn't *known* it at the time... 

Now she was confusing herself.

"I think I've found the problem, Major," Lewis said triumphantly, rising with something in his hand.

"Oh?"

He walked over, avoiding the chunks of the MALP on the floor and presented it to her proudly.

"What the hell is that?" she demanded, though she knew perfectly well what it was. She was just so surprised to see it there.

"It's a quarter," Lewis replied, looking at her oddly.

"I know it's a..." She rolled her eyes. "What was it doing in there?"

"It looks like someone had put it there," he replied, shrugging and turning the coin in his hand. "That's the only reason I can think of."

Sam raised her eyebrows and took the quarter from him, holding it up to the light. "Sabotage?"

"Well, it didn't do much damage – nothing that isn't easily repairable. I can't imagine why they would want to sabotage a MALP, either. I mean, it wasn't going on a particularly important mission."

"Bizarre," Sam replied. Who on Earth would have done it? she wondered. And when? Siler had checked the MALP only that morning...

Wait. Would he have... ? No. No. But maybe...

Sam jumped slightly when the first chevron activated on the Stargate, her thoughts interrupted.

"Nothing to worry about," Lewis told her comfortingly, glancing at the clock, "this is a scheduled off-world activation."

She nodded faintly, still clutching the quarter in her hand, and stared up at the gate as Simmons' voice counted off the chevrons. Then the wormhole activated, the kawoosh exploded and Sam made herself take a few calming breaths. 

A figure, dark against the bright, beautiful blue, stepped through, his head turning almost immediately towards her.

"Welcome back, General. Infirmary and then my office in half an hour," General Hammond ordered over the PA system.

Casually, Jack raised a hand in response to this greeting as he walked down the ramp towards Sam, his eyes fixed on her. The glow Sam got from knowing *that* smile on his face was solely for her was unbelievable and she felt a little exposed all of a sudden, as if everyone was watching. 

Her responding smile was probably pretty goofy looking, too.

"Major." He came to stand next to her as he hovered near the body parts of the MALP and plunged his hands into his pockets. "Long time no see."

"Yes, sir. It's been a while," Sam replied, moving a little closer to him and tilting her head to the side. Was he taller? He seemed taller. And tanned. God - he looked *so* good.

Jack nodded his head towards the doors. "Want to walk me to the infirmary?"

Hell yeah. "Sure," was her somewhat more sedate answer, though by the glint in his eye, she wasn't fooling him.

"And after that... lunch?"

Walking side by side with him now, she nudged his shoulder with hers and slid the quarter into her pocket, reminding herself to ask Siler about it later. Much later. "That'd be great."

"Then dinner?" he teased.

She guessed that meant he was going to be sticking to Colorado Springs. "Absolutely." They could try that new Italian place. She could wear her sexy new pencil skirt. 

Hand on the small of her back, he coaxed her into a fairly full elevator and then responded genially to the friendly greetings from the other occupants, remembering all their names and family details with an ease that Sam had always been envious of. 

Mindful of their audience, he waited until most of them got off before he put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, his voice very, very low, "Breakfast?"

  



End file.
